Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Liechtenstein and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing The Zeros to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Vaughan Mason & Crew. All the underground hits.
All Metal Thangz tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fat Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Vogues,
Theoretical Girls,
The Names,
The Gladiators,
Agent Orange,
Inner City,
The Star Department,
Aloha Tigers,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Stockholm Monsters,
Wire,
The Seeds,
Lungfish,
Marc Almond,
The Detroit Cobras,
the Normal,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Rod Modell,
Bluetip,
Kerri Chandler,
The Fuzztones,
The Cramps,
Basic Channel,
Loose Ends,
the Swans,
Sun Ra,
Bang On A Can,
Michelle Simonal,
Scratch Acid,
Fear,
Das Ding,
Ronnie Foster,
Los Fastidios,
Marvin Gaye,
Aswad,
Maurizio,
Quando Quango,
Donald Byrd,
Panda Bear,
The Misunderstood,
The Moody Blues,
8 Eyed Spy,
Joe Smooth,
Sexual Harrassment,
Fela Kuti,
Animal Collective,
Jawbox,
The Monochrome Set,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Stiv Bators,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
James White and The Blacks,
The Techniques,
Ossler,
F. McDonald,
Depeche Mode,
Freddie Wadling,
Todd Rundgren,
Malaria!,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Fortunes, The Fortunes, The Fortunes, The Fortunes.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.